Chapter 3 - The Building With My Mother's Name

"Sale of what?" I asked.

Dad flattened the envelope on the counter but wouldn't let go of it.

"The building. We might have a buyer."

The air seemed to leave the room. Bell & Flour wasn't a chain or an investment. It was the narrow brick bakery Mom had opened at twenty-three, with crooked shelves, a bell that rang twice when the door shut, and her name painted by hand above the window.

"You can't sell it without talking to me."

"No one's signed anything," Dad said too fast.

Corinne stepped beside him. "Daniel, you don't have to defend yourself to a girl who's been gone four years."

"I'm twenty-seven," I said. "And I left because you told me I was ruining the family."

"Enough," Dad muttered.

Grandma opened the envelope. The notice named Mercer Development and announced an inspection the following Monday. Under the heading PROPERTY OWNER, someone had typed my full legal name.

"Why am I on this?" I asked.

Dad stared at the floor. "Your mother left her half of the building to you."

"I know that. You own the other half."

"We have expenses. The ovens need replacing. The roof leaks."

"And none of that explains why I'm listed as approving a sale."

Corinne leaned forward. "You can either help your father or you can watch everything collapse."

Grandma's voice cut through hers. "If the roof was that bad, why did you take forty-two thousand dollars out of the repair account?"

Dad looked up sharply. "What?"

For the first time, Corinne appeared genuinely surprised.

"June has been snooping in private finances," she said.

"Rina still sends me the monthly bookkeeping summary," Grandma replied. "She helped your father open this business. You may have forgotten that."

I looked at Dad. "Did you know about the money?"

He didn't answer.

The tiny red gingerbread door pressed into my palm. When I was eight, Mom had told me that every house needed a door somebody could come home through. She'd never imagined I would stand in her kitchen, fighting to keep hers from being sold.

I reached for the notice. In the bottom corner, beneath a date from three days earlier, was a signature written in a neat blue script.

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It was mine.

Except I had never signed it.